Toronto
by SherlollyEnigma
Summary: Sherlock and Molly celebrate the success of a case a little too well and wake up to discover they have married. Ignoring their obvious feelings for each other, the two agree to file for divorce. However, their divorce attorney isn't all he appears and, with fate determined to keep them together, will the two get their wish?
1. Married in Toronto

_I know, I know...another story (I'm so bad, I need to work on my others) but this is a trial, if it works, great...if not, well...we'll see :) The drunk married AU was too tempting to stay away from :D Anyway, as I said, a trial...I hope you like it xx_

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It really was a beautiful city and he was actually rather _honoured _to be invited to solve a particularly puzzling case. A billionaire murdered in broad daylight in front of hundreds of people as he delivered a speech and no sign of a murderer or murder weapon of any kind…just the sort of case to bring him from his boredom – the only drawback was the location was miles away in Toronto, Canada, which meant flying. By plane. Something Sherlock Holmes was _not _accustomed to. Luckily, he had 'persuaded' Molly Hooper to join him for the journey; this had more than surprised John Watson and Greg Lestrade despite his claims it was merely for the requirement of her pathology skills.

John had expressed his worries about leaving his pregnant wife behind but at Mary's insistence, he found his bags packed and wedged awkwardly between Sherlock and Molly in the first class section of the plane. The journey itself hadn't been too bad although Sherlock had thrown his arms to the side during take-off; John raised his eyebrows when Molly seized the detective's hand and squeezed it supportively – it was almost accurate to say Sherlock was first off the plane when they landed.

They spent the first few days of their visit investigating the crime scene and interviewing witnesses, dodging the Canadian press as they worked. The army doctor watched his friends work closely together, muttering to each other in low voices and pointing over aspects of the wide conference hall – by the end of their second day, Sherlock had ruled out gunshots and knifing leaving something he was certain about: poisoning. This was where Molly came in…

"I need access to the morgue, Sherlock…they're not going to let me in," she protested as he marched her through the Hospital doors and down the corridors.

"Yes, they will…remember as we practiced," he reassured with a roll of his eyes as he shunted her towards reception; Molly gritted her teeth and shoved the slipping glasses higher up her nose – _"trust me, you look very authoritive."_

"Excuse me, I'm Doctor Molly Hooper, a senior registrar from St. Bartholomew's Hospital in London…I was wondering if I could view Mr. Loww's body…for some research notes," she added hastily, gesturing at her clipboard; she needn't have bothered, the receptionist barely looked up as she nodded towards the stairs.

"Down the corridor, first door on the right…"

Molly nodded and began teetering towards the stairs, the ridiculous heels Sherlock had insisted she wear clacking against the tiles. She felt him behind her and knew he was grinning; he slapped her shoulder proudly.

"Impressive…although, I think they'll notice when they prepare to commence the autopsy-"

"This is illegal, Sherlock…I have no authority here…if someone finds out what I'm doing for you," she trailed off as several student doctors bustled past, buried in their notes; she swallowed, her hands shaking as they rested against the door, "…if you're right and he has been poisoned, you think the autopsy reports will be faked…that's why you want me to do it?"

He nodded, standing by the door and peering through the small window; he didn't speak again until Molly had snapped on her gloves.

"You…are one of the only people I can trust…"

The pathologist swallowed and gathered the tools, bending over the body and frowning – someone had already started and simply covered him up.

"Sherlock…who exactly was Mr. Loww?"

"A politician responsible for several public health services cancellations and terminations…he wasn't respected and many people were furious at his policies. Many people were let down under his ideas…it doesn't make sense since he suffered from a rare heart condition that required constant treatment…it would have been simple to replace his medication with poison were you his doctor," he replied quickly, speaking more to himself as he glanced over his shoulder to find Molly bending down to glance at something on the floor.

"Well, someone has already started the dissection…Mr. Loww would have put many out of a job, right?" Sherlock nodded, turning to face her, clearly impressed. Molly straightened and examined the tool in her hand, "if I didn't know any better, Sherlock…I'd say we interrupted this person-"

Before she could finish, she was seized from behind and her mouth covered to muffle her screams; Sherlock lunged forwards for the metal tray but stopped dead when he noticed the silver metal of a scalpel held to Molly's throat. His eyes travelled higher to the older man, grinning toothily and pressing the sharp instrument to his pathologist's neck; Sherlock instinctively raised his hands.

"Very good, Mr. Holmes…no one would suspect the doctor, especially since he'd been seeing me for years-"

"-let her go…" Sherlock growled demandingly, inching closer to the metal tray; his throw wasn't as good as it used to be but his aim was spot on. The man gritted his teeth, pulling at Molly's hair and attempting to keep his voice level.

"No, _no…_my daughter lost her healthcare because of him…he let her down. I am a professional, _senior medical expert_ but I couldn't save my daughter. She had a rare genetic disorder, Mr. Holmes…and the clinic supporting her-" he stopped, winding his hand through Molly's hair and pressing the scalpel tighter; Sherlock narrowed his eyes in hatred as he watched small spots of blood begin to surface to her creamy skin; _almost there. _

"Mr. Loww was only doing his job…your daughter wasn't abandoned…there were surely other clinics in the world-"

"You don't understand…he claimed to work for the people…he worked for himself…one less sleazy politician in the world…" the older man sniffed, allowing a stray tear to stain his face; Sherlock's eyes locked onto Molly's fear filled browns and he winked.

"Look, if you let my friend go right now, I promise you'll only get life imprisonment…if you don't, the police won't find you in one piece…" when the man merely chuckled, inching around the lab table towards the exit, Sherlock sighed and shrugged, "suit yourself."

The man whirled as Sherlock lurched for the heavy metal tray, swinging it as though it were a frisbee; he had calculated its weight and determined it would indeed travel towards its intended target. Molly gasped for breath and clutched at her throat when she was released, scrambling towards Sherlock; the older man swore violently, clutching at his head as he tried to recover from his disorientation.

"Very…very Bond, Sher-lock," she rasped, rubbing at her neck and refusing to succumb to the tears plucking at her eyes; he snapped the handcuffs around the criminals wrists, chaining him to the desk in the corner of the room. Molly breathed out deeply and gasped when she felt herself lifted from the ground and deposited onto a metal bench, Sherlock stepping between her legs with his hands at her throat ever so gently, "…what are you…doing?"

"Checking for injury…more thorough than any doctor," he glanced at her, smiling softly as she met his eyes, "…you were very good. Almost _brilliant_. I'm impressed."

"Learned…from the best," she wheezed and Sherlock chuckled, flushing ever so slightly pinker. The criminal, whose eyes had been darting between them, rolled his eyes and made a disgusted sound as he heaved himself into a sitting position.

"Jesus Christ, call the police, already…I can't listen to much more of this…"

He was ignored as Sherlock simply winked at the pathologist, returning her to the ground after finding satisfaction she was safe; the Canadian authorities were soon informed and the criminal arrested, shouting all the while how he was a hero amongst the people. John had arrived not long after and breathed out, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Well…almost a week and we did it…quite easy when it came down to it."

"I do like to be certain," Sherlock smiled, stuffing the phone back into his pocket and turning to his friends, "now what? We're two days ahead of schedule."

Molly shrugged and shifted uncomfortably on her feet; John turned towards the exit of the Hospital and sighed, nodding pointedly.

"Before we do anything, mate…we'd better speak to the press. They'll want to know," he sighed sympathetically as Sherlock nodded, already setting a steady pace out of the Hospital…

After a lengthy twenty minutes speaking to the press, the trio returned to the privacy of their hotel room where the detective was planning to stay until their flight back to the peacefully brutal London; however, John and Molly had suggested they spend the evening celebrating the success of the case and make the most of the bar's exotic drinks. Sherlock shuffled on his uncomfortable stool, watching as Molly threw back a bright blue liquid and winced; how did he get himself into these situations. A more important question seemed to be why had she changed from the sensible uniform he had provided into a short dress, highlighting the length of her legs and slender neck. He glanced at his drink and frowned when he noticed it was half-finished; _that _must be why he noticed it more than usual. The music was still loud and unbearable but the alcohol was certainly helping; he found himself smiling as he clinked his glass with the army doctor and pathologist, immediately feeling himself loosen up as the searing liquid hit the back of his throat.

Daylight streamed through the partially drawn curtains of the large hotel room, illuminating Sherlock Holmes' peacefully sleeping body; his eyes flew open as searing pain shot to his brain.

"Oooh…"

He groaned, running a hand over his face; he frowned when he discovered a cheap almost tacky ring accessory on his right hand. His vision blurred and he resisted the urge to throw up, rolling over and colliding with something soft. He pulled away and threw back the covers, his eyes widening as Molly Hooper was revealed; she was quite obviously naked and snoring open-mouthed next to him; this was the moment Sherlock realised she wasn't the only one of them clothes less. He dropped back against his pillows, his head spinning from the force of his hangover. He attempted to glance around the room for more evidence – upturned tables, clothes abandoned in every corner of the room, _love bites_ – and swallowed hard, his mind whirling. He turned back on his side and jabbed Molly hard in the middle of her back, hoping she'd realise of her nakedness before rolling over to face him.

"Sher…lock, _ooh,_" she whined, throwing the covers over her head; after a moment or two, Sherlock heard her gasp and she returned to the daylight, blushing frantically, "…I…did you…what happened?"

For once in his life, Sherlock looked utterly lost as he shook his head, pulling the covers higher as Molly shifted away from him; she fidgeted uncomfortably, rubbing over her head and ignoring the small contact of the cold ring against her forehead. Finally, she turned to him and tilted her head.

"You don't think we…had…sex, do you?"

"Oh, my God…John's not under there too, is he?" Sherlock asked uncertainly, completely ignoring her question. Molly opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by an arm appearing at the end of the bed, sticking straight in the air.

"Nope…I'm down here…" he whined, the top of his head becoming visible as he hauled himself into a sitting position, "and my head is fucking splitting…" he turned to his friends and raised an eyebrow, smiling lazily through his squint, "have a good night?"

"Have you been there the whole time?" Molly squeaked, embarrassment flooding through her and John rolled his eyes, whimpering as he unsteadily wobbled to his feet, attempting to tuck his shirt into his trousers.

"I assume so, my back's killing me…why does it- _oh,_" he caught sight of some lacy knickers protruding from a pair of abandoned trousers. He visibly shivered, equally mortified as the detective and pathologist. His eyes were drawn to a document lying on the table; Sherlock shook his head, turning to face Molly.

"We…we can move past this…for all we know, we, uh…were hot in the night and…you lost your hotel room key. I had space in m-mine…and you stayed, removed all your clothes, innocently gave me love bites, I returned the favour and we…fell asleep?" He suggested, hugging his knees to his chest as Molly groaned, throwing her hands over her face. John had returned from the side room, clutching the document in his hands and wearing an enormous smug grin.

"Well, congratulations…Mr. and Mrs. Holmes…" he held out the certificate with their signatures and folded his arms when Sherlock snatched the paper, his eyes widening, "…you got _married?_"

He was answered with a stunned silence, the newlyweds peering at the paper half in amazement, the other half in horror; John rolled his eyes and dived for his phone, grumbling at the whirling in his head, he swallowed and turned to the two still gaping in confusion before quickly peering over each other's bodies.

"Um…I think I may have an answer," the 'Holmes' turned to the army doctor, nodding in simultaneous encouragement; John was still watching his phone as though it were a bomb, "…my phone was recording all night…on video."

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_Ok, I know the case was dumb but I needed to get it going somehow, lol...thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it xx I am just so glad to get this out here to be judged by you wonderful people...if you liked it, it'll certainly return ;) xx Thank you so much for reading and thank you even more for putting up with me :D xx_


	2. Heroes Reward

_Hello again, guys...hope you're all okay and feeling happy. Thank you for the very positive response for the first chapter and I am really glad you enjoyed it :D The main plot comes in after this little 'filler' chapter, if you want...thanks for the patience ;) On with the story, then xx_

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"Well? Are we going to watch it or not?"

John frowned as the detective and pathologist pointed him towards the door, both insisting he delete the videos when he returned to his hotel room; John, however, had no intention of doing so for his curiosity was too great. Why did they have wedding rings on their fingers complete with a marriage certificate? Why were they lying naked next to each other in bed whilst he was fully dressed on the floor? If his friends had done what all three assumed, had John _stayed? _The thought made him grimace as he turned the key in to his room, already fiddling with his phone; his eyes burned as he made his way to the curtains, throwing them closed and blocking the bright lights. He collapsed onto his bed and found the first video of the night – it seemed to be around the time they were beginning to get drunk and John could tell by the erratic swinging of the camera, he had no idea he was filming.

"_Ok...ok, ok…oh-kay…" _John had never heard himself sound so drunk before and wished the spinning of the camera would stop; he could barely make out anything – apparently, he liked to speak with his hands, "_'fession time. Sher-lock, if…if you wasn't drunk, what would you do right now?"_

John breathed a sigh of relief when the camera settled sideways on the table; he squinted at the dishevelled figure of the detective, his eyes drooping and curls messy – his scarf was hanging loose and his coat nowhere to be seen. Sherlock shrugged, staring somewhere off camera.

"_Dunno…hungry, I guesh…"_

John blinked repeatedly, wishing the music in the background wasn't so loud; this wasn't their sort of thing so why had they decided to get drunk. There was a case but that's all he could manage in his current state. Sherlock had tilted his head and was still staring, licking his lips less than subtly.

"_Nah, t'Molly…"_

Sherlock averted his gaze and traced his finger around the edge of his…whatever it was he was drinking. John brought his phone closer, ignoring his headache and the protest of his eyes.

"_I don't believe in miracles, John," _he was shaking his head and pouting, returning to stare off camera; John rolled his eyes, urging his friend to get on with it – the drunk version of himself seemed to agree because the camera jolted with the force of his nod, "_but…but Molly's arse is a gift from God."_

Before either of the drunk friends could reply, Molly had teetered back over and clumsily dropped more drinks in front of them; the camera flew to the ceiling as John threw back his drink. It resettled once again and the semi-sober John raised his eyebrows at the sight of Molly leaning on Sherlock's shoulder, fiddling with his loose scarf as he supported his waist.

"_I was thinking, Sherlock…Sher-lock, you saved my…life today…" _Sherlock was shaking his head, knocking back more of his alcohol. Drunk John was being more than quiet, observing the pair with quiet interest, _"no, nah…nope, I want to…thank you properly."_

"_Well, what…did you have in mind?" _Sherlock asked, turning to face her so quickly she almost fell over; John was beginning to feel uncomfortable as he saw where this was leading – his drunk-self appeared none the wiser though. Molly gave a large, wolfish smirk.

"_I want to take you…upstairs and fuck your brains out, repeatedly and re-relentlessly…a proper heroes reward," _the Sherlock on the blurry video blushed along with the sobering John watching the video. The camera suddenly fell to the floor and the last thing John heard before it cut off was Sherlock's breathless reply.

"_In that case, you can 'thank me' all night…but we should get married first."_

* * *

Sherlock and Molly hadn't moved an inch since John left and occasionally glanced to the side, wondering if either were going to move to gather their clothes. Sherlock cleared his throat, avoiding looking directly at Molly.

"I need my…uh, clothes, Molly," he frowned when she didn't move, just simply nodding at him, "…get out of bed, then."

"What? You get out of bed!" She replied fiercely, tugging the bed sheets higher up her body. Sherlock gritted his teeth, focusing on the knees he was still hugging to his chest.

"We'll need to co-ordinate, then…um, shuffle this way and, er…" he trailed off as Molly clutched the far too thin sheet to her chest and shuffled over.

She frowned when he didn't move and poked him in the shoulder effectively bringing his gaze to her face; he blushed and shimmied to the edge of the bed, Molly a few inches away from him. They both simultaneously groaned and winced as they got to their feet; they caught each other's gaze and blushed immensely, turning away – Sherlock assumed her soreness was in a similar spot to his. They manoeuvred carefully around the room and gathered clothes, all whilst gripping onto the sheet. Molly blushed as she extracted her rather fancier set of knickers from the detective's trouser pocket.

"You don't need to be a consulting detective to figure out what happened in here last night," she smiled sadly, awkwardly shuffling back into her dress before disappearing into the ensuite; Sherlock gaped after her, realising with a sinking of his stomach how right she was.

* * *

John grumbled to himself, rubbing his head and wondering if he should watch the other two videos on his own, especially considering the end of the previous; however, his friends had made it perfectly clear they didn't want to know and John felt _someone _had to. He reluctantly pressed play on the next video and breathed deeply at the peaceful atmosphere of the night sky and gentle hum of what he assumed to be a boat; his own face appeared in front of the camera, grinning and drunk.

"_Mary…Mar-y, Mary! Guesh what? I'm…I was a besht man tonight…no, no I was…" _the camera flipped to Sherlock and Molly, braced against the edge of the boat, fiercely clutching each other whilst joined at the mouth and leaving no space for air between them; John sat upright on the bed, his jaw dropping and head throbbing – there was no way they could have gotten married whilst blind drunk…was there? He frowned when the camera tilted slightly to reveal a very smug man thumbing through a large wad of cash; John shook his head but his drunk self hadn't finished, _"we…we were lucky, Mary…he was about to go home…it's amazing what some, uh…money can do."_

"Oh, no…" he mumbled, burying his face in hands; this was officially the worst hangover he'd ever had. He shook his head and looked up in time to find himself tottering over to the man counting the money; what he was saying was incomprehensible but the man just smirked and leaned in.

"_It's their hangover, mate. Something tells me they'll make it anyway, I wouldn't worry…"_

The video cut out again and John shook his head repeatedly, dreading the final video as he was more than sure what he was going to find.

* * *

Sherlock was now fully dressed and tidying up the hotel room they had partially destroyed; Molly was correct, of course…it was obvious what had happened between them. He didn't want there to be awkwardness between them and resolved to reason with her, hoping she'd give him a simple divorce. He paused, glancing at the bathroom she was hiding in. Did Sherlock Holmes really _want _to divorce Molly Hooper? How would his life change? She'd let him carry out his cases and experiments, all he'd have to do was share his flat and bed with her. He breathed deeply, distracting himself by fluffing a random pillow. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, Molly Holmes, Doctor Molly Holmes. Molly reading the paper at his flat, Molly wearing his dressing gown, Molly running her fingers through his hair when he needed to relax, Molly encouraging him to eat when he forgets, Molly returning from work to a nice, hot bath after a stressful day, Molly enjoying the tenderness of his fingers digging into her aching muscles, Molly having constant sex with just _him, _Sherlock Holmes, her husband. Sherlock threw the pillow aside, moving onto the balcony in an attempt to distract his wandering mind. Molly developing a craving for coffee as an after-sex treat, Molly no longer trailing after him but getting used to Sherlock Holmes wanting everything she could give.

"Fine…have it your way…" he unclenched his fists and turned to walk back to the bed, awaiting the moment until Molly felt brave enough to face him.

* * *

"_Mary, Mary…d'you know whatta third wheel ish? Iss…iss me, look!" _Drunk John waved stupidly at the camera, turning the camera to Sherlock and Molly draped all over each other in the small taxi; sobering John swallowed at the sweetness and love in his friend's expression, _"…we're going to bed, now…but I think I'm the only one gonna be shleeping. Shh…"_

The next few moments of footage were focused on the ground as they staggered towards their rooms, the sounds of laughing, spluttering, sloppy kisses and tripping upstairs can be heard. John squinted as the camera was plunged into darkness after it was stuffed away in his pocket; he heard himself scrabbling at the door handle and muffled voices somewhere behind him.

"_Time…time for your reward, my hero…"_

"_Oh, Mrs…Holmes…I cannot wait…"_

He heard more shuffling footsteps before a door slammed shut; crashing and giggling could be heard from the other room and the camera was removed once more, setting on the sink as the drunk John staggered into the bathroom. John himself rolled his eyes and skipped the video until his drunk-self lifted the phone to address the camera directly.

"_Oh, Mary…Mary, I forgot to shay, d-don't have the baby without me…the flight is tomorrow evening, I think…I-I'll be home to you shoon-"_

"_Sherlock! Oh, yes…please…"_

John blushed, ignoring the voice at the back of his mind that told him to stop watching the video; he was partially glad he didn't when he heard Sherlock's desperate cry after Molly's.

"_Molly, I-I love you…Jesus, I love you sho…much…"_

"For God's sake…he needs to watch this," John shook his head, getting to his feet defiantly. He heard the John behind the camera phone grumble and get to his feet, grumbling something about asking them to be quiet; the army doctor raised his eyebrows, burying his face in his hands, "…oh, I didn't, did I?"

Sure enough, he watched the camera wobble as he drunkenly staggered into the hallway before the door to the next room was thrown open; he expected, even when he was drunk, for him to turn around and leave but instead he tottered over to the minibar and removed a beer – the John watching the video adjusted the volume so he didn't have to hear the obscene amount of noise his friends were making. John was quite glad he managed to avoid catching any footage of what was happening on the bed. The camera swept across the floor, stopping on the short dress Molly had been wearing not five minutes ago; the drunk doctor's co-ordination was definitely off for his feet entangled with the fabric as he attempted to pass – he toppled onto the floor and made the decision to stay there, despite clothes falling around him and the loud moans of his two friends not to mention the strain the bedsprings were being put under.

"_Sorry Mary…babe, the honey-mooners are getting it on…I don't wanna move…do you think they're thirsty?"_

John cut of the video soon after the torrent of pleasured curse words uttered from the two; he could clearly feel his ears burn and embarrassment took him over; he was especially glad he couldn't remember any of this happen, that would definitely make things worse. He now needed to persuade Sherlock to watch the video which he knew wasn't going to be easy…

* * *

**Perhaps, this marriage idea wouldn't be- **Sherlock shook his head, ruffling the curls and clasping his hands. **Maybe we should reconsider- no. I have feelings…definitely not. Do I have feelings for her? I like her, I respect her…I shagged her. **Sherlock groaned, dropping his head to his knees; **what kind of money-hungry bastard allowed us to get married in our state of mind? **He immediately shot his head up as the bathroom door opened; Molly cautiously approached and dropped next to him on the bed, wincing slightly at the force.

"I…uh, when we get back to London…my Mum is a lawyer…she can, she knows someone who can handle the divorce…we may even get an annulment-"

"Annulments only succeed if the parties haven't consummated the marriage. I think the evidence surrounding us proves we consummated long and hard…" he muttered, not lifting his gaze from the floor; Molly nodded, fiddling with her hands and wondering if she should pack her clothes or sit here and stifle in the awkward atmosphere. Soon, she was chuckling, "…what a night, eh? This isn't us…we don't get drunk and marry our friends. Why on Earth did we agree to celebrate the completion of a case with alcohol?"

"I suppose we thought it was a good idea," he shrugged, not daring to say a word just yet; she hadn't finished anyway.

"…and marriage? Can you imagine it? Two people so afraid of commitment, so afraid to admit their true desires…we'd ignore each other all day, wind each other up to near insanity…slip into 'domestic bliss'…move in, share the same space? We'd drive each other crazy!"

"Hmmm…I never thought of it like that before," Sherlock nodded, sighing deeply; once again, Molly surprised him with her correct observation – Sherlock wasn't a domestic God and even Molly couldn't cope with his foul moods and tempers; they would end up killing each other. What had he been thinking? Molly was watching him somewhat hopefully but Sherlock simply got to his feet.

"Yes…we will meet this divorce lawyer and the sooner we can get back to normal, the better…" he avoided looking at her as he secured his suitcase; Molly got to her feet with a heavy sigh, trudging from the hotel room with a final longing glance at the detective. Sherlock shook his head, unable to believe he had managed to convince himself it might just work out…

* * *

_Oooh, will John manage to convince Sherlock to watch the videos? Will Sherlock and Molly move past their awkwardness and admit they love each other? I guess that's what this story is about... xx the plot is coming next, thank you for reading xx_


	3. Confessions

_Hello and welcome back :) Ok, so we're not quite ready for Mr. Lawyer just yet but this chapter should be just as good (hopefully ;) Anyway, on with go in search of that plot...xx_

* * *

_"Married? As in…as in married?"_

John winced as the shrill voice of his wife floated through the receiver and into his throbbing mind; he nodded, only partially aware she couldn't see him; he stirred his tea groggily and nodded his thanks at the breakfast waiter.

"Yeah…we got a bit carried away…" he winced, sipping the piping hot liquid delicately and glancing around the almost empty breakfast room; the newlyweds hadn't returned from their room yet.

_"Mm. Well, it sounds like they had a good night," _the giggle in her voice wasn't missed by John who frowned, rubbing his forehead.

"I became an unwitting porn director, Mary!" John realised too late he had almost shouted and glanced around apologetically; he lowered his voice this time, "…they'll have to get a bigger flat."

_"What? Why? What's wrong with Baker Street?"_

"Mrs. Hudson needs to sleep, dear," he groaned, waving away the breakfast waiter; he really didn't feel like eating anything. Mary was snorting childishly now and John scowled, muttering under his breath, "they haven't come down from breakfast yet."

_"Oh, leave them be…they're on honeymoon!"_

"Very funny…" he smiled slightly as he imagined her curled on the sofa, resting her cereal bowl on her large stomach as she so often did. He cleared his throat, "flight's tonight."

_"Yep…littl'un's missed her Daddy," _she cooed through a mouthful of cornflakes, knowing her. John grinned and finished the rest of his tea; he glanced up to see the moody figure of his best friend breeze towards him looking very fresh-faced despite the night they'd had.

"Mary, I've got to go…I'll see you later," he quickly uttered, cutting off the phone before she could reply; Sherlock collapsed opposite him, his look utterly thunderous, "…uh, how's things?"

"Fine. We've discussed the situation and we both agree it would be best to…file for divorce. She's just finishing her packing…"

"What? That's…the only way, I suppose," he was shaking his head, toying with the phone in his hand; Sherlock shrugged and poured his own tea whilst John gathered his courage, "…Sherlock, on the video, you said some pretty intense stuff-"

"I wasn't in the right frame of mind, John…besides, I don't need to watch the video to understand what happened," he muttered, bringing the cup to his lips; he took great care in avoiding looking directly at his friend although John didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, I suppose," he sighed in defeat, tucking the phone away and rubbing his sore eyes. After several moments, Sherlock cleared his throat and John peered between the gaps in his fingers; the detective was nodding tight-lipped to a small velvet box he had placed.

"What do you think?"

Utterly confused, John gathered the box and twirled it in his fingers, popping the lid and almost choking on his own tongue; the large, sparkling wedding ring sat beautifully in the centre-

"Will she like it?"

Rock didn't do the large diamond justice, not to mention the smaller jewels dotted around the centre; John didn't need to be a professional to know this item wasn't cheap. He shook his head, pressing the dazzling item back into Sherlock's hand.

"I…it's…what the hell did you buy that for if you are getting a divorce?" Sherlock ignored him, choosing to admire the gorgeous ring and John rubbed the back of his neck, "…how much did you spend?"

Sherlock blinked in confusion, "I was under the impression you were supposed to spend three month's wages-"

"Yeah, a _normal person's wages,_" John actually laughed, pointing at the item and noticing his voice increase in pitch, "not that of a premier league footballer!" He shook his head, the throbbing returning, "…you don't get any wages."

Sherlock sighed deeply, stuffing the box out of sight before his friend could say anything more. John had dropped his head onto the table when the waiter returned to take Sherlock's order; the army doctor was utterly sickened by the sheer amount of food he ordered.

"Your hangovers aren't natural," he groaned into the table and Sherlock chuckled, removing his scarf to drape over the chair; hopefully, Molly would join them before his nerve left him. Finally, John lifted his heavy head and squinted at the detective opposite, "when did you get the ring?" Sherlock ignored him again, setting his menu aside and glancing towards the door; John blinked slowly, "…it was pointless, you'll only have to get rid of them after the divorce," the penny dropped for John after Sherlock became very interested in his drained tea, "…you- you do want to get divorced, right?"

"Of course, I suggested it," he lied, pressing the cup tightly to his lips; John would have rolled his eyes if it wasn't too much work. Soon, Sherlock's order had arrived and John found himself running to the bathroom without stopping – he had barely left when he felt Molly drop into the seat next to him. She was fiddling with her hands and had changed into a comfortable shirt and jeans combo.

"You have strange hangovers," she smiled, nodding at the vast amount of plates in front of him; he rolled his eyes and moved several over to her with a shy smile.

"Honeymoon special…better make the most it, it is free…"

Molly quickly closed her mouth, trying not to get her hopes up – this meant nothing, he wasn't suddenly going to change his mind and fall in love with her just like that. She clattered around with her knife and fork, her clumsiness causing her husband to chuckle – _that _had felt strange. But, world's only consulting detective or not, he was her husband. It wouldn't have been awkward if the thoughts about what they had done last night weren't hanging over them. Several times Molly attempted to start a conversation, only to blush and return to her plate. She didn't expect Sherlock to turn around and take a deep breath.

"You…can wear this, if you want…" he thrust the ring forward, turning back to hide his blush – why he was blushing, Sherlock wasn't sure (he had no reason to.) He smirked when he heard Molly splutter on her tea, shaking her head frantically.

"I…can't…it's just…I-I thought we were-"

"Yes but until then," he didn't know how to finish so instead fiddled with his remaining toast; he sensed Molly was about to protest again and, not being known for his patience, Sherlock frowned, "…I'll not have it said the wife of Sherlock Holmes wore anything less."

Molly gave a weak smile, reluctantly removing her cheap piece of metal – her genuine wedding ring, in Molly's mind – and reluctantly slipped the perfectly fitting diamonds onto her finger; **of course he was only thinking of his bloody image. **Although, Molly had to admit, it was utterly gorgeous. Without thinking, Molly pressed a quick kiss to Sherlock's cheek; this left him a flustered, blushing mess when she pulled back.

"Thank you."

He nodded, the words of the English language temporarily taking a short holiday from his brain. John emerged a pale white several minutes later and re-joined the couple, looking slightly healthier despite his colour.

"Oh, hello Molly," he smiled warmly to which she nodded in reply, her mouth full of the breakfast Sherlock had ordered for them. He pulled his own menu closer, grinning to himself, "…I think I've got my appetite back now…"

"Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed suddenly, making the other two jump; he searched his pockets and turned to Molly, trying to hide his smirk from John, "…Molly, I think it worth mentioning I didn't bring any condoms and I doubt we bought any-"

"It's ok, I'm on the pill," she waved her hand dismissively, shooting him a disapproving look despite smirking on the inside herself. John blinked at the menu, sighing deeply as he tossed it aside with a small 'never mind'.

* * *

He had only meant to close his eyes for several moments to block out the lurching and tilting of the plane – how he managed it the first eight hours getting there, he didn't know. However, Sherlock was hit with a feature length movie of last night's activities; he couldn't differentiate between what was imagination and what was memory. He saw the staggering up stairs, hands either supporting or exploring as the made their way, John trailing behind, utter filth whispered between them, something about a hero. He attempted to stop his mind's rebellion but that meant returning to the uncomfortable seat and rumble of the plane's engine. He opened his eyes reluctantly and raised an eyebrow at John – head thrown back and snoring open-mouthed, stretching his legs out into the aisle. He rolled his eyes and turned to Molly, also asleep and resting her warm head against his shoulder. He ran a hand over his face desperately wishing he could just sleep like a normal person. Although, when Molly started to hum in her sleep, he thought he might as well try.

He was immediately materialised in the dark hotel room, watching the events of either his drink-addled subconscious or his Molly-fuelled imagination. He felt the warm pain of embarrassment as he watched Molly kick away her shoes, stumbling to the bed and falling face first on top knocking several items as she made her way – he himself was still struggling with the quite simply task of removing his scarf, almost choking himself with the blasted thing. He merely wobbled on the spot until Molly huffed and got to her feet, ripping his jacket from his shoulders despite missing several times.

_"I can hardly give…you your reward with…your clothes on, can I?"_

_"Nope," _he replied childishly, grinning stupidly as Molly scrabbled and fumbled with his shirt buttons; she gave up when Sherlock simply seized the hem and yanked it over his head…only to get stuck when the remaining buttons refused to budge, _"shtuck…"_

Sherlock buried his face in his hands as he watched the pathetic display as though he could remember; he watched himself clumsily wave his arms around in an attempt to pull her closer; Molly was roaring with laughter, before she tripped and landed on her knees at his feet; she took the opportunity to place her hands on his hips and kiss over his chest, eliciting sounds Sherlock had never heard himself make before. He flailed in the stuck shirt for a moment, his messy black curls poking from the top the only visible sign his head was still there.

_"Molly, I'd…I'd really like for you to…fuck my brains out now…"_

**Did I really say that? **Sherlock had always thought of himself as a very responsible and controlled drunk which is why he chose to accept this as his imagination. Molly was now attacking his shirt, grumbling at him for being an idiot – they celebrated his freedom with some sloppy kisses and harsh caresses; Sherlock sighed at his own eagerness when he practically pushed Molly onto the bed again and collapsing on top of her immediately afterwards. They giggled hard before pressing a finger to each other's lips.

_"Shh…John'sh next door…he's probably sleeping…"_

The Sherlock lying on Molly nodded, pressing his lips to the finger still at his lips whilst she watched him hungrily; the real Sherlock watched the interaction through narrowed eyes and willed the encounter to hurry up. He watched more desperate, passionate snogs and fumbling hands until he stood and yanked Molly's dress completely off. Both of the Sherlock's displayed looks of utter pride that was until Molly sat up, tugging at his belt; the real Sherlock hovering by the door blushed and attempted to avert his eyes from the sight of his semi-naked wife. **Well, she _is_ my wife. Of course I'd remember those details perfectly…she has the most adorable blush that spreads evenly, especially when she's aroused.**

He opened his eyes with a small gasp, attempting to disguise the sound as a yawn. It took him several minutes to realise Molly wasn't next to him and that John was glaring at him.

"What?" His husky tone surprised him but John didn't seem to notice; he simply continued staring, tilting his head slightly and it suddenly occurred to Sherlock he may have been talking in his sleep – he cleared his throat, "…Molly in the bathroom?"

"Yes. Don't you dare think about joining her…" he muttered darkly, turning back to face the front. Sherlock frowned in confusion.

"Why would I-" he smirked and gave a small chuckle, flexing his fingers, "…come now, John, do you really think we'd join the mile-high club with you on the same flight?" He shook his head chuckling and John smiled awkwardly at the elderly lady in the opposite aisle, "…you've already heard us having sex once, that should be enough."

John frowned, rubbing his head in confusion although he wasn't sure why; Sherlock's eyes widened after he had finished speaking but had gathered himself before John noticed. The army doctor chuckled, adjusting his seat and leaning back.

"Where did _you_ learn about the 'mile-high' club?"

"Not from practical experience…simple observation. Mycroft supposes that is the cause of my pteromerhanophobia," he smirked and flexed his fingers, "at the age of six, it's understandable. Now?" He shrugged, also leaning back in the uncomfortable chair, "more…_interesting_…"

John rolled his eyes, sleep itching to claim him; he wriggled into comfort and, surprisingly, fell asleep rather quickly. Sherlock didn't want to close his eyes again and return to the hotel room but he had to do _something _to take his mind off of the dips the plan kept taking. Reluctantly, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply as his hands clasped.

He found himself watching he and Molly in a giggling heap beneath the covers, each shushing each other and taking it in turns to exchange clumsy kisses.

_"Said small…small's good…"_

Sherlock blushed when his drunk-self disappeared beneath the covers after a devilish wink; what followed was a series of pleas and desperate clutching at whatever she could reach – Sherlock was more than certain this was his imagination unless he was more adventurous than he had first assumed. Either way, Molly seemed to enjoy it…he'd remember that. He barely registered the return of Molly next to him outside the memory of his mind palace. He blinked when the door to the hotel room opened as he surfaced, descending on Molly's lips once more. John staggered into the room and Sherlock raised an eyebrow when he gave a shy wave, stumbling towards the minibar to remove a beer. He smirked when the animalistic noises began and John tripped over the dress, tumbling to the floor-

He was brought abruptly from the hotel room when he felt a warm hand closing over his, the glittering ring shining in the dim lights. He gave Molly a soft smile when she bit her lip.

"I saw you twitching…if you want to hold my hand-"

"Molly…" he swallowed, quickly glancing past her at the once more snoozing doctor and nodded once, meeting her worried gaze, "…how do you feel about…the violin?"

* * *

John rubbed his eyes, rolling sore shoulders as he hauled his bags to the front of his house; Mary watched him struggle with a smile on her face as she sipped her decaffeinated coffee. He embraced her gently and bent to kiss her bump.

"I'm glad you put the kettle on," he straightened, dumping the bags in the hallway. He was thankful the hangover was gone but the jetlag he could do without. Mary ruffled his hair as he dropped into a chair.

"Nice flight, was it? Newlyweds didn't shag in the toilets?"

**_You've already heard us having sex once._**

"Uh, no…" John frowned, rubbing his head and wondering why Sherlock's statement on the plane had suddenly arisen. Mary sighed as if in disappointment.

"I'll bet you fifty they don't get divorced…I bet you _a hundred_ they start shagging again before they meet with the lawyer…" she smirked, stirring her tea and rubbing her stomach; her hormones were all over the place, making her, in John's words, 'horny as hell'. She glanced out of the corner of her eye, "…about this 'porn video'?"

**_I don't need to watch the video to understand what happened._**

"Hmm? Deleted it," he replied distractedly, thinking hard about the random snippets of conversation coming into his brain. Mary rolled her eyes in a 'typical' sort of gesture. She dropped the hot cup in front of John and stretched on the opposite chair, prodding her enormous stomach gently. John seemed very fascinated with his own ring.

**_What do you think? Will she like it?_**

**When did you get the ring? **Sherlock had ignored this and John's heart pounded in certain he was nearing something close to a breakthrough. Then, he remembered his own words over breakfast: **_your hangovers aren't natural._**

"Bastard!" He slammed his fist down and unwittingly made Mary jump; he got to his feet and hurried to Mary's side, "…babe, I have to go…I have a consulting detective to brutally murder."

Before his wife could ask why, John had disappeared out of the front door and was rapidly making his way to 221B Baker Street, his anger only growing with every step he took.

* * *

"You were _sober, _you git," John thundered as the door leading to the flat flew open, hitting the wall with a loud crash; he was even more outraged when Sherlock simply held up a hand from his spot by the window, turning to show he was on the phone.

"Tomorrow? Yes, thank you Mrs. Hooper…ten o'clock? Certainly…ah, no I'm afraid not. Molly and I believe- uh, if you wish to meet me before we sign the papers I suppose that's ok," he rolled his eyes at John, smiling into the phone, "…yes, mine would most likely wish to meet her. Is that the time? Yes, I will…_yes, I will. _Goodbye, Helen…" he cut off the phone with an exaggerated sigh, avoiding John's fuming look as he turned to face the window once more, "…Molly's mother arranged a meeting with a colleague of hers specialising in marriages," he forced himself to face John and bit his lip, "…I can explain-"

"You can explain how you seduced and manipulated a drunk friend of yours?"

"Might I remind you _I _was the one who proposed marriage," he sighed, dropping onto the sofa and offering John the chair which he reluctantly took, "…I wasn't drunk but I wasn't sober either," he added quickly when it looked as though John was about to kill him, "…I made sure to drink enough to become intoxicated but not enough to lose my thoughts, so to speak. I knew what I was doing when I asked Molly to marry me. I convinced myself in my inebriated state it was a good idea. I was aware of every action I made yet found myself powerless to stop," John softened at the look of honesty in Sherlock's expression; the detective would never intentionally hurt a friend of his, "…it was only in the morning I began to see reason; we discussed why our situation wouldn't work. It was _never _my intention to take advantage of Molly, John…she presented me with an offer I couldn't refuse. Had we had both been completely sober, I still would have agreed."

John gaped, running his hands over his face in defeat; only Sherlock Holmes would get only a little drunk to pluck up the courage to propose. He frowned and looked at his friend.

"You wanted to marry Molly…you bought the ring in advance-"

"It was an experiment. If we mutually agreed we could make marriage work then we wouldn't bother with a divorce, she's move in and we'd carry on. I believed she wouldn't hinder my progress with cases or experiments; she is the most tolerable of my habits, after all. However, Molly proved to me we'd collide and irritate each other – we'd only end up hating each other and filing for a more bitter divorce years down the line, probably with kids in the picture," he shook his head and John raised his eyebrows, "…it's better this way."

"Right," John nodded, his head beginning to throb with the information; he rubbed the back of his neck, "…so you've told her you're in love with her then?"

"I asked her to move in with me."

_"What?" _John had actually jumped to his feet and was glaring at the nodding detective. He attempted words but Sherlock beat him to it.

"Only until the papers are signed…it would provide me with the adequate proof we'd _cope_ together," there was an almost desperate plea to his voice as he fiddled with his jacket distractedly, "…I think we would make it, John. It also saves her the trip for signing the papers-"

"_That's _your reasoning for getting Molly Hooper-"

"-Holmes-"

John frowned, leaning over Sherlock threateningly, "that's your excuse for getting _Molly _back into bed?"

"It makes sense," he shrugged and John threw his arms in defeat; Sherlock decided to quickly add, "…she said no, John," the army doctor looked surprised if the sheer height of his eyebrows was anything to go by. Sherlock was avoiding his gaze, strolling to the window once more; although he couldn't see his face, John was convinced Sherlock was smirking when he next spoke, "…I'll just have to try something else. One thing is for sure, this divorce is NOT happening."

* * *

_Hmm...Sherlock is very stubborn, isn't he? Use your words, man! Lol :D I hope you liked this one and the next shouldn't be too far away (if life doesn't happen) xx Thank you for reading and for being amazing xx_


	4. Flirting With Danger

_Hello again :) I'd just like to thank every one of you even if you're just reading, you're the best (I've loved every single comment for the last chapter and I'm really glad you want more :) SO thrilled...now, if you like very flirty, awkward Sherlolly brace yourselves. Enough teasing, the chapter...xx_

* * *

**_Mr. C. Burke_**

Sherlock stared through narrowed eyes at the shiny name embroidered on the office door of the man who was to decide his future. He was being far too dramatic for his liking but still couldn't cease the irritating tapping of his leg.

"I bet his name's _Cuthbert_," he whispered, still staring at the door. Molly finished rifling through her bag and sighed, shaking her head.

"Be nice…he's doing us a favour," she, too, whispered but couldn't keep the smirk from her face as she snuck a quick glance at him, "…Caldwell seems more likely."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and also tried not to smirk** – oh, she wants to play? **They locked eyes and neither could hold in their smiles now.

"Fine but if you're wrong, _you _are buying dinner."

After taking a moment to recover from shock, Molly nodded and extended her hand, "…okay, but if _you're _wrong I want more than just a takeaway."

"I…" Sherlock swallowed the sudden amount of liquid in his mouth and shook her hand once, "I think I can, uh, do that."

Molly smiled softly and glanced down at their still loosely grasped hands. Her brain was whirling and the room was spinning; suddenly, all Molly Hooper could think about was how she never wanted to let Sherlock Holmes go. She was overcome by how much she really, _truly _wanted him to hold her and kiss her. She lifted her gaze and swallowed when she found him staring back; Molly allowed her heart to fill with hope as he opened his mouth.

"Oh, I'm sorry to keep you waiting…uh, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, yes?" The door of Mr. C. Burke swung open, effectively making Sherlock and Molly jump to their feet and attempt to look normal; the man in question looked over his papers and gestured them inside, "…it's nice to meet you, Helen was telling me all about it – drunk abroad, hell of a hangover…you won't _believe _how many of these cases I actually get. Anyway, I'm Connor Burke…shitty name, I know. Now, about the-"

His words became mere rambles as Sherlock turned to Molly with a triumphant grin to which she replied with a small head shake.

"You lost, Molly, it's only fair," he whispered, feeling his stomach flood with warmth when Molly was forced to bite into her lip to keep from smiling **– careful, Mr. Holmes…chemical defect, remember? **Sherlock shook the thought away, choosing instead to stare at Molly.

"Ok, so any questions about that?" Connor looked up, clasping his hands and frowning at the supposedly separating couple. They immediately looked away and shook their heads simultaneously. Connor frowned and looked utterly confused; he shuffled the papers, "…um, very well. In that case, I shall simply leave with these papers today and, once you have signed to say you meet all the requirements, we can begin proceedings," he paused, looking between the two, "…I must say, I find it very strange you two wish to separate, you seem very…_close._"

"Oh, no, we don't get on at all…you should have seen my bank balance after the wedding night," Sherlock smiled almost sarcastically, rising from his chair and straightening his coat. Molly gave only a half-nod and Connor smiled uncertainly.

"Excellent…I'll await your reply," he grinned, removing a business card from his pocket and handing it to Molly with a sly wink, biting his lip, "…I'm always available."

Sherlock scowled at the man currently staring his wife up and down but Molly was busy twirling the card through her fingers to notice. Connor wore the most irritating smile when he grasped Molly's hand firmly and awaited Sherlock's – big mistake.

**Shiny nails? Frequently manicures, attorney is not a messy job so…hobby, then? Needs something to hide the blood of his victims? **Sherlock rolled his eyes and took the hand of the attorney, taking the details of the firm and demanding handshake – he could easily overpower someone even with his short stature. ** Evidence of previous wedding ring…separated, divorced or widower? He'd keep the ring of she had left him (see Pink Lady case). **Sherlock quickly scanned the office and smirked as he spotted several photos locked away in a glass cabinet. **No children, previously married. Still cares for his ex but not enough to win her back? Serial. Cheat. **Sherlock frowned, something in his mind prompting him to drop Connor's hand and near the cabinet of photos. He spotted one of the attorney with his arm around a taller woman, familiar yet still quite distant from each other – **engaged. **Several women lurking in the background were eyeing him hungrily and Sherlock sighed. He turned away and found Connor glaring at him.

"Something wrong, Mr. Holmes?" He tilted his head questioningly and Molly shifted uncomfortably; Sherlock remained tight-lipped shaking his head as he neared his wife.

"I don't think so…it's still early days," he gave a final smile and began ushering Molly towards the door; Connor, however, cleared his throat.

"Um, Mrs. Holmes…the papers?"

Molly pushed aside how right it felt being called Mrs. Holmes by a complete stranger and hastily grabbed the papers, inadvertently brushing his skin and causing him to blush. Outside in the hall, she and Sherlock simply lingered awkwardly, desperately attempting to avoid looking at the other. Finally, Molly felt brave enough to speak.

"So, um…did you hear what-"

"No," he replied far too quickly and shuffled on the spot, moving them away from the door so Connor couldn't hear. Molly nodded, having no choice but to look him in the eyes now.

"So, we both have no idea what we're doing?" She swallowed, not entirely referring to whatever papers they had been handed. Sherlock shook his head, taking an unconscious step closer.

"It doesn't look like it."

* * *

Connor ran his hands through his hair repeatedly, stepping over to his window to peer through the blinds; he narrowed his eyes as he watched his new clients cross the street, no doubt discussing what had happened. He loosened his tie and retrieved his phone from his jacket pocket, not taking his eyes off the couple as he pressed it to his ear.

_"Hello?"_

"Harry? I need a favour…what do you know about Sherlock Holmes? Give me everything you've got…" he added quickly as he watched Molly nod towards a nearby coffee shop – it seems Sherlock was debating whether or not to follow her. **Is he an idiot?**

_"That's gonna take time, Connor. A few days, at least…" _Harry sighed and Connor heard the rustling of papers in the background, _"…why? What's he done?"_

"He's a…client of mine. Although," the corners of Connor's lips curled as he watched Sherlock finally nod and walk side-by-side with his wife into the coffee shop, "I can tell they're not interested. It's sad, really."

_"Oh, so let me guess…you want her, right?" _

Connor could almost hear Harry's smirk as he spoke so his devious grin was not worth fighting, "…you know me, I never mix business and pleasure."

_"So the other eight times were-"_

"Alright, alright…you wait, when Molly Holmes is a free woman, I'm going to plough her like a fucking field," he breathed deeply, clenching his fists in anticipation, "…she won't know what hit her."

_"We'll see, mate, you can't win 'em all…besides, you said she's in love with this Holmes guy!"_

"You forget, my friend, I'm _very _persuasive," he grinned devilishly watching the giggling pair disappear inside the establishment.

* * *

Greg looked up from his desk, alarmed to find Sherlock breezily stroll into his office; it took him several moments to gather his thoughts as the man simply stared at him.

"When the hell did you get back? I've been trying to get hold of you!" He gritted his teeth when Sherlock simply shrugged and dropped heavily into the empty chair, "…anyway, thanks for solving that case…at least that gets the international authorities-"

"Could you run a check for me? Keep it quiet, though, not something I want getting around. I'd ask Mycroft but he'd ask too many questions…" Sherlock looked up, fiddling with something beneath his glove. Greg blinked momentarily before seizing the nearest pen and paper.

"Go on, then."

"Connor Burke, divorce attorney, apparently. Early thirties, separated from his ex-fiancée around two, possibly three, years ago. Adulterer so probably has several contact details, not to mention aliases," he spoke slower than usual knowing Greg had to write everything down – his frown deepened with every word, "I managed to take this from his office," he thrust forward the business card and Greg could hold his tongue no longer.

"What were you doing in a divorce attorney's office?" The Inspector raised his eyebrows as Sherlock glanced behind him and get to his feet to snap the door closed; suddenly, he looked very worried as he ran a hand through his hair.

"It was…we were celebrating the case's completion and we all had one too many drinks. I…married…Molly Hooper," he gave a guilty smile, unsure what to do with his hands; Greg shot to his feet, his look of utter shock evidently clear but Sherlock cut him off before he could say anything, "I would have married my shoes in the state we were in. Why do you think we were seeing a divorce attorney?" His phone buzzed and Sherlock smirked as he read the message fondly, "…can we discuss this later? I have to pick up dinner…the wife is waiting."

He winked and Greg was certain the detective looked far too pleased with himself as he swept from the office with a spring in his step. He dropped back into his seat, far too stunned to get on with any work for the time being.

* * *

Not much had happened since John had left 221B that morning – his texts to Sherlock had been ignored and Mrs. Hudson was utterly clueless as to what he was up to. He turned to key to his house, balancing the shopping on his arm as he manoeuvred his way to the kitchen.

"I'm home…I hope you've put your feet up…" he called lovingly, unpacking the many, _many _boxes of cookies his wife had demanded. He extracted her new neck pillow from the side and paused when he heard no reply, "…babe? You haven't tried to get upstairs without me, have you?"

He rushed into the hall and called her name desperately several times upstairs; panic set in as he darted through to the living room – relief flooded over him as he found his wife in the living room, doubled over and clutching her stomach, breathing erratic and fear-stricken. John's eyes widened.

"Oh, my God…you're in labour; why didn't you phone me?"

Even through her pain, Mary was still able to approach John and seize him by the collar, "…it…just…happened…now. Get…get me…get…"

"Ok, ok…okay…" John was white as a sheet and shaking with excitement and nerves, "…wow, um…I'm going…we're having a…I'm Dad, now…"

Mary smiled yet still gritted her teeth as she hissed her reply back, "…little way…togoyet."

John nodded and was numb to the pain his wife was causing his upper arm as he led her through to her car…before remembering he couldn't drive. He spied Mrs. Hemmingway next door and darted over, speaking quickly.

"Mrs. Hemmingway, Mary's in labour…could you-"

"Oh, sure, dear…hop in," the older woman herded the couple into the car where John spent the majority of the time having the blood drained from his arm, becoming deafened by his wife's screams and hastily trying to get a signal to text the godfather he hadn't actually asked to be godfather yet.

* * *

_Sherlock, we need to talk. MH_

_Sherlock, we really need to talk. MH_

_You cannot ignore me forever. MH_

_I have just been 'chatting' with that charming Inspector friend of yours. Do you have some news to share, little brother? MH_

_Mummy and Daddy will be pleased, shall I inform them? MH_

"Will you switch that phone off or put it on silent…you could also answer him, you know?"

Molly peered over the top of the papers she and Sherlock were still trying to decipher – they had met outside the chip shop he had recommended after his return to life. He groaned, leaning his head back to stare up at her now upside-down face; his curls brushed against her folded bare legs and she shivered. He had, for some reason, selected to sit on the floor in front of her position on the far comfier sofa.

"He must have had some teeth out," he muttered distractedly and Molly playfully tapped his head with the papers.

"Want some more?" She gestured to the discarded chip bag and he shook his head, stretching his long legs out on the floor; his shoes and jacket had long been abandoned somewhere and Molly couldn't exactly remember when she had changed into her pyjamas.

"It says here, 'to be eligible to file for divorce, the parties need to have been married for at least a year. If this is not the case, you will have to consider annulment.' Hmm, it goes on to say 'you can annul a marriage if you didn't properly consent to the marriage i.e. too drunk-"

"Oh," Molly sighed in slight disappointment but Sherlock shifted into sitting into a more upright position.

"…ah, but it says _here _'it can also be annulled if it wasn't consummated; you haven't had sex with your significant other since the wedding…'" both Sherlock and Molly's memories seemed to ignite with the very sentence, both feeling very hot all of a sudden, "are we still assuming we…" Sherlock trailed off, suddenly feeling very aware of Molly's skin pressing into his back.

"Oh, yeah…we definitely did."

Molly nodded, sinking back against the cushions with a groan; for the first time in her life, Molly silently cursed Sherlock for choosing a white shirt. They spent the next several moments trading the silence of the flat for the blissful noises and sights of the Toronto hotel room. It was the sound of Sherlock's text alert that brought them both back into the room with a start, both hastily sorting through papers and coughing awkwardly. Unable to resist any longer, Molly reached forwards and settled her hands in Sherlock's hair.

"Molly…" he faltered when he realised how good it felt to have her hands in his hair; the words that tumbled from his mouth had been far from what he had been intending to say, "why are we divorcing each other…if we've been flirting all day?" The question threw Molly completely and, as a result, her hands stilled; she heard Sherlock swallow and attempt to nudge her hands on, "…please, don't stop."

"We wouldn't work, Sherlock…I-"

"I know…but we haven't even tried…"

He had leaned his head back once more and Molly looked over him, her fingers leaving his hair to brush over his lips gently. Ignoring every part of screaming not to go there, Molly bit her lip and leaned even closer; Sherlock's mind clouded over, effectively blocking out his own annoying little 'HUMAN ERROR, HUMAN ERROR' – it was her text alert, though, that brought them to their senses.

_I need to discuss some things with you. I hope you don't mind, Helen gave me your number. How about tomorrow night at seven? I know a lovely little restaurant, we should be able to get some things underway. Connor. B_

Molly frowned at the message and glanced out of the corner of her eye; Sherlock was ruffling his hair and fanning his face, trying desperately not to let his mind stray to what he had almost allowed to happen. Molly concentrated all her energy into replying to the message.

_Sounds nice but I'll need to check with Sherlock. Mollyx_

_Not necessary, he's not needed. I'll see you tomorrow. Connor. B_

Molly blinked in confusion but put it to the back of her mind when the next text needed more urgent attention.

_Molly's in labour. At the Hospital. Bring your 'hubby', too; I know you're with him. JW_

* * *

_Oh, he had to be a bastard, didn't he? It makes it so much easier (or harder, I can never tell :) People out there are always hide behind some sort of mask *sigh* xx Anyway, here we go, then...the game is certainly very much...something xx_


	5. I Need You

_Ok, so I'm taking this in a bit of a darker direction than I first intended but I don't think you'll be disappointed (but please but warned :). (I had to give my imagination a forceful bitchslap in this chapter but I still don't think it worked ;) If you're familiar with my stories, you know the villain isn't what they seem and they're true colours are soon revealed: get ready for Connor's :s Anyway, I'm not sure about this but there's one way to find out *deep breath* xx_

* * *

It took Molly several moments to absorb John's frantic text before she was excitedly on her feet, dips in the sofa appearing where she still stood.

"Oh, my God…it's time…she's coming!" She was already hastily rushing to the door before realising she was still in her pyjama shorts; Sherlock was sitting completely still, mind whirling and face flushing when Molly's hand landed on his shoulder, "…come on, 'hubby', we need to go."

"Yes…yes, of course, wife," he replied equally excited, allowing her to pull him to his feet; for one fleeting moment, their lips touched but the moment was far too quick to be enjoyed by either of them.

Sherlock was left touching his tingling lips as Molly reluctantly departed to her bedroom after a quick ruffle of the detective's hair. Sherlock wondered if Molly was having the same trouble as him, the trouble of trying to remove the inappropriate of thoughts involving his significant other. His wife dressed in the room that was hers but should be theirs…his wife was stripping clothes and thinking about him…his. wife. Sherlock shook his head, desperately attempting to think of her as anything but, well _that_.He thought about standing near her, feeling her warm breath on his skin as he gently tilted her chin to meet his eyes. She'd bite her lip when his thumb ghosted over, noting the softness and plump juiciness. Their lips would touch again in the most ferocious of ways, clutching to anything they could for support to keep from collapsing. Sherlock ruffled his hair and swallowed as he heard Molly moving around, the sound of fabric hitting the floor. **Molly is my wife…she took my ring, she is wearing it and she uses my name. Babies take hours to arrive. **He frowned at the last thought, deciding it best to distract himself from the growing 'problem' he found himself faced with. He glanced at the abandoned phone next to him as it began to vibrate frantically.

_John Watson calling…_

Leaving the ringing device where it sat, Sherlock gracefully jumped to his feet and strolled towards the bedroom; he ruffled his hair and straightened his jacket, attempting to calm his racing heart for he knew full well there was only one thing he wanted as his hand settled on the door handle.

* * *

John fiercely paced the Reception of the Hospital, glancing at his watch and occasionally stopping to whirl on the spot, shooting Greg worried looks. It had been exactly an hour since he had sent the texts to Sherlock and Molly – neither had turned up or replied. He was getting steadily more annoyed and wanted his friend to be there when he greeted his daughter. John whipped his phone from his pocket and dialled Molly's number – Sherlock wasn't going to answer and he was certain they were together discussing the divorce they weren't going to get. He was more than surprised when it continued to ring over and over. **Why is she ignoring me? **He hung up with a huff and threw his arms angrily.

"Where the hell are they? Look, I can't wait for them all night…could you- I mean, when they get here-"

"Don't worry, go back to Mary, I'll wait for them…" Greg smiled encouragingly and John hurried off after a grateful clap to the Inspector's shoulder.

After failing to contact the godfather of his almost-born daughter, John resorted to informing the Inspector who immediately rushed to his side from work – John shouldn't be alone at a time like this. Mary had been whisked away to a private room and was awaiting delivery of the baby. Her husband dashed between the separate room to the Reception, desperate to know whether or not Sherlock had arrived yet. Greg kept a watchful eye on the front door, collapsing into a less than comfortable Hospital chair; his eyes were beginning to droop but he remained determined, flitting his gaze to the clock. **10:30pm… **He stifled a yawn, tilting his head back into a more comfortable position; the last thing he registered before succumbing to sleep was the other patients quietly whispering and the gentle hum of the vending machines.

* * *

"Is…are they…here yet?" Mary panted between gulps of air from the oxygen mask, John attentively wiping at her brow; he reluctantly shook his head, trying not to look too disappointed and Mary shook her head, attempting to brush away the midwives, "…then, I-I'm not…doing it…you want- he needs-"

"I've put my life on hold too many times for Sherlock bloody Holmes, darling," he settled her back down against the Hospital bed and rubbing her shoulders, "…he can see her when she gets here. Besides, telling him he's a godfather when he first holds her will be lovely."

"He might…might drop her…" Mary uttered, gasping into the mask but John shook his head and smiled softly; he had given Sherlock one or two lessons on how to hold a newborn…the less said about the result the better but John decided to cross that bridge when they came to it. The midwives had started murmuring and grinned widely at the Watsons.

"Right, Mrs. Watson…are you ready to have a baby?"

They barely gave her time to reply before she was being hurried from the room and down to delivery, John frantically following on shaky legs. All the mental preparation in the world couldn't have helped him with this moment, the moment he was about to become a father. He refused to let the blood drain from his head and remained strong for his wife, gripping her hand as she screamed through her contractions. She barely heard her instructions to begin pushing, pain overcoming her; she drowned out John's encouragement, throwing her head back and shaking her head.

"I can't, John…I need you, I need you…please, don't go…"

John had been about to ask what she meant but the midwife gestured him over to see his daughter entering the world; John sadly shook his head, choosing to stay by Mary's side as he gripped her hands tightly – besides, if he was going to see her, it would be with Mary by his side. After several agonising screams of pain, teeth-gritting and pushing, Mary finally gave birth to a wriggling, screaming and very pink baby girl.

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Watson…you have a lovely, healthy little girl…we'll just clean her up for you…" the midwife happily declared and Mary relaxed, allowing John to brush the sweaty strands of her blonde hair from her face.

"Well done, my darling, thank you," he kissed her cheek affectionately, loosening his grip on her hands as she relaxed; she brought a heavy hand to cup his tear-stained cheeks and bit her lip.

"Are you crying because I hurt you or because you're a Daddy," she gasped, reclining into a more comfortable position; she allowed her own tear to fall as he chuckled hard, dropping his forehead to her shoulder.

"Both…you've got sharp nails," he grinned, lifting his head as the crying infant was pressed into her mother's all too eager grip; as the baby girl slowly became used to breathing air for the first time, John softly smoothed her wrinkled skin, pressing his lips to her balled up fist. Mary rocked the infant and smiled widely, sniffing loudly.

"What shall we call her, then?"

"Amie, the way you wanted to spell it…" John replied immediately, swallowing his joyous sobs, "…Amie Elizabeth Watson…"

"Amie Elizabeth Sherlock…it is a girl's name," she shrugged, cradling the baby close; John wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pressed his lips to her sweaty skin.

"Fine but we won't tell him yet…"

* * *

Half an hour later, when both Mummy and baby were sound asleep in their separate but near cots, John returned to Reception, looking much worse, but definitely happier, than when he had arrived. Greg was still fast asleep across three Hospital chairs and the newlyweds had now arrived, hastily dropping hands as they got their feet. Sherlock was more than surprised when John's arms flew around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"Aren't you upset I was late?"

"I don't care…you're here now," he released him, awkwardly clapping his shoulder; Sherlock nodded, dropping into the Hospital seat next to his friend; Molly made her excuses and carried the vast amount of balloons and presents towards Mary and Amie's room. After a moment, Sherlock awkwardly extended his hand.

"Congratulations…although, it was Mary who pushed a small human out of her body," he smiled and John rolled his eyes, beaming from ear to ear as he grasped Sherlock's hand.

"Thanks…uh, her name's Amie Elizabeth Sher-" Sherlock raised an eyebrow and folded his arms smugly but John quickly corrected himself, "…Sheryl."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, leaning back against the chair and closing his eyes; John took the opportunity to glance over his friend in an attempt to discern why he had been so late – despite the fact he didn't know what time Sherlock had arrived at the Hospital, his friend looked very…exhausted. Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be around him but John did notice he seemed rather _peaceful_ as he retreated to his mind palace.

"Why were you late then?" He asked, curiosity peaking.

"Ah, line at the gift shop…balloons and presents, Molly insisted. She made a good point that, since we are married, there is no point buying separate gifts – they are from the two of us," he breathed, waving a dismissive hand and John raised an eyebrow, silently pondering how much more married they could possibly get; he wasn't sure if he believed the detective or not but, since he had very little else to go on, it would have to do.

* * *

Soon after, John returned to his wife and daughter, departing with a promise he would immediately inform them when they awoke so they could meet his family. During the hours, Molly had tried her best to avoid Sherlock by ducking out of sight, taking frequent trips to the bathroom and disappearing for coffee. She was mostly un-keen to discuss what had happened between them before they departed for the Hospital…even less keen to discuss dinner with Connor that evening, something she was yet to tell Sherlock about. However, when he cornered her and shoved her into an abandoned Hospital room, she realised the conversation needed to be had. He was standing impossibly close to her, his hand loosely gripping her wrist so he could feel her pulse elevate under his touch. He swallowed, ignoring the voice in his head that told him to quit whilst he was ahead.

"I know you said you didn't want to talk about it…but, Molly, we…I don't want to get-"

"Sherlock, I'm meeting Connor tonight," she blurted out, hoping this would make him step up and understand he was going to lose her if he didn't do _something_; she regretted not letting him speak, though, wondering if he had been about to say 'divorced'. His shock was evident though and she couldn't stop now, "he wants to discuss something about the annulment," she noticed his blank stare and crossed her arms, "…is it a problem for me to-"

"Why would it be? I suppose I am not needed…" he felt stung, hurt that she'd want to spend time with anyone but him. Molly shrugged with a slight shake of his head, looking anywhere but into his eyes.

"So, it's ok?" She hoped, prayed he'd stop her…she desperately wanted to move on, yes, but move on with her husband, the man she (accidentally) married. She twirled the ring on her finger lovingly as Sherlock gritted his teeth, hiding his clenched teeth from her view.

"Fine. Although I don't see why he'd want you alone to discuss _our _divorce…" he pouted turning away from her; Molly lifted an eyebrow hopefully, reaching out to place a hand to his upper arm.

"I can cancel-"

"No, have fun…you deserve it," Sherlock faced her with a false smile, pressing his lips to hers far too familiarly before breezing out of the room as though nothing had happened; honestly, he was like two different people.

* * *

Mary and Amie were finally awake, several hours later, and ready to face company – Greg had left after only a quick 'hello' and cuddle due to his commitments to the Yard. John excitedly gestured Sherlock and Molly inside, pressing his finger to his lips as he pushed the door open; the detective rapidly searched his mind palace for information as to why his heart was racing under his thick coat. He carefully stepped inside, ignoring the heat rushing to his cheeks as he brushed past Molly. Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the small human currently hiccoughing in Mary arms, wrapped in a tight pink blanket; both women cooed incessantly when the young girl yawned widely. Molly gasped her delight and whispered her congratulations to the new mother, approaching her side cautiously. Mary beamed and handed the child to Molly without hesitation; after a moment of reluctant hesitation, Molly lifted the baby girl into her arms and brought her close, whispering random things to the baby. She cooed and murmured to the infant whilst John curled up next to Mary, whispering to her happily. Sherlock watched Molly with Amie, a lump rising in his throat as he thought about what had happened between them earlier…how easy it was to say what he had, how she had told him never to mention it again, how he regretted their situation but not enough to end it. Why he had said these things was obvious even to Molly but, still, they denied themselves something that would potentially last their lifetime. Molly was also watching him now, giving him a watery smile and she gently held out Amie for her godfather.

"I-"

"Sherlock, as long as you don't do what you did with the flour baby, you'll be fine," John uttered his assurance and Sherlock swallowed, eagerly accepting his goddaughter. John shook away Mary's muttered questions about the flour baby and watched the smile grow on his friend's face. Before he knew it, Sherlock was downright unloading on the poor infant.

"Hello, baby girl Watson…um, you don't know me very well, yet, but…you are very lucky. You have a very clever Daddy and a wonderful Mummy who both love you very dearly. I promise you, I will be here for you…I will try to be worthy of your love and respect one day and-"

"Sherlock…Sher-" John sniffed, not wanting to be caught sobbing in his friend's presence; Mary was downright crying, her face buried in her hands and Molly was nowhere to be seen – Sherlock frowned at the new parents and felt John's grip on his shoulder, "…you…will be Amie's godfather, Sherlock…I don't even need to ask you…"

It was instinct, not to mention experience, that forced John to quickly take the wriggling infant as Sherlock's grip slackened. He held Amie close as Sherlock blinked, his mouth agape; Mary was grinning as Amie was placed back in her lap; John faintly saw out of the corner of his eyes Sherlock nodding before the door opened once more.

* * *

Molly paced the flat, rubbing at her head as she frantically thought about what to do – only a few days ago, she had woken in the arms of the man she loved, naked and satisfied…and married. Now, they were discussing an annulment neither wanted as well as flirting constantly, more than they had been before the trip. Molly groaned as she reached her bedroom, throwing clothes out of her wardrobe in an attempt to find something to wear; **it's only a dinner to discuss the annulment, it's not a ****_date_****. There's only one man I want to date…my glorious, idiot husband. Does he want me or not? I don't- **Molly tripping on the partially folded rug on her bedroom floor caused her thought to abruptly cease; blushing, she bent to straighten it all the while refusing to allow her mind to stray to how it had become so askew. **Fuck this, I can't live like this, wondering if I'll ever be anything to him, asking myself if Sherlock Holmes could ever love me. **She straightened with determination and seized the nearest skirt she owned, shucking her trousers and shaking thoughts of Sherlock's hands doing it for her from her imagination…or was it memory?

_I'll be there soon…would you like me to bring anything? Mollyx_

The speed of his reply should have concerned her instead of make her smile.

_Just your beautiful self…I have everything I need. _

* * *

Sherlock sulkily dropped onto the sofa of 221B, having just thrown his coat aside into a crumpled heap on the floor – since he had been the last one remaining at the Hospital, Sherlock had no desire to stay with the sleeping Watsons (they would be there for another day at most, anyway). Molly, though, _Molly Holmes _was on a date, with their divorce attorney…eating together, talking laughing at his expense, probably. It was a date, it had to be…why else was he not needed? Paranoia wasn't something Sherlock was used to but the thought of another man enjoying his wife's company irritated him entirely. Sherlock would have ignored the text alert that sounded if he hadn't seen whom it was from.

_We got something but I don't think you're going to like it. He's something of a playboy. Seducing his vulnerable female clients after promising the divorce would work in their favour. His firms have defended his actions due to his astounding record…but the emotional pain he leaves behind is something else, Sherlock. These women trusted him and he shattered it. He makes them believe it is not worth the struggle, insists their husbands are not worth it and…well, you know. I managed to track down an ex-client of his – she took some persuading before she spoke to me. GL_

Sherlock's eyes with every word he read and he hastily typed a reply, unconsciously rising to his feet.

_Molly is different. She wouldn't do that. Besides, she can have anything she wants from me. SH_

_That's not the point. He will try to convince her she means nothing to you. These women are prizes to him, Sherlock, proof he's God at his job. GL_

Sherlock was frowning, deep in thought and his fingers moved to the tune of the inner workings of his brilliant mind.

_Unless his methods are far less legal than we first thought. SH_

_Meaning? GL_

_How does he seduce them? SH_

_Um…over dinner. GL_

He didn't even wait for Greg's reply before he was on his feet, gathering the Belstaff and manoeuvring the item over his shoulder. He was out of the door and hurrying towards the location he had seen from Molly's phone.

* * *

"So, tell me about yourself," Connor pressed with a smile on his face, pouring more wine into her already filled glass; the pathologist raised her eyebrows, attempting to seek out some sort of briefcase or folder he had brought with him. She gritted her teeth in annoyance.

"Mr. Burke…" **_Cuthbert…he probably changed his name. Why keep Burke, though? _**Molly covered her mouth with her hand, trying her hardest not to snort with laughter in front of him; she composed herself and faced him again, "…I'm not here to discuss my marriage, am I?"

"Damn, you saw through my plan…I simply wanted to try and get to know you on a more _personal _level. I feel if I know my clients, I can better assist them," he grinned, urging her to drink the wine; Molly drank carefully just to stop him from scrunching his face like that.

"Look, I appreciate the kindness but I don't think-" **Sherlock! I'm changing what are you doing in my bedroom? ****_Something I should have done the moment we landed back in England…possibly even before that. _**Connor was watching her, somewhat confused as he eyes began to water. She shook her head, "…I can't-"

"Your meal, sir, madam…" the waiter announced in an exaggerated French accent, the second word stressed more gently than the first. She sighed, setting aside her napkin for the plate; Connor narrowed his eyes suspiciously and clicked his fingers at the waiter.

"Another bottle, waiter, and _don't_ spill this one."

"I don't theenk the lady is finished with ze current one, monsieur," he growled, dropping Connor's plate in front of him and stomping away; Molly quickly glanced up but he had vanished. Connor smirked, whistling slightly.

"Well, someone had an attitude problem…" he gathered his knife and fork, scraping the two together obnoxiously; Molly seized her wine glass, certain she was going to need it. After taking a rather large gulp, Molly smiled sarcastically.

"Well, he wouldn't have one if customers using his services treated him with the respect he deserves for putting up with bullshit like yours…ignorant twat," she murmured the last part, sipping more of her wine and feeling her head spin; **wow, this stuff is strong. **Molly shook away her disorientation and gritted her teeth when Connor simply chuckled. Molly grabbed her own cutlery; she may as well take advantage of someone she was rapidly starting to dislike, "…do you do this often? Ask your still married clients out on dates?"

"Only the really hot ones," he winked, chewing his chicken sickeningly; Molly decided in that exact moment she was a vegetarian; **does he think I'm…easy or something? **She rolled her eyes, pushing her plate away; Connor sighed and reached for her hand.

"Look, I understand your husband is putting you through a hard time and I just want to help-"

"With all due respect, you know nothing about me and my husband, Mr. Burke," she wriggled her hand from his and folded them across her chest, "…did you know I'm still in love with him? The last thing I want is to sit here with you and discuss an annulment I _really _don't want."

For a moment, Connor blinked before allowing his fists to clench under the table. They awkwardly ate their dinner, avoiding each other's gaze; the dramatic French waiter returned with the second bottle, 'accidentally' whacking Connor's head with it as he passed – Molly had to hide her chuckle at this. It became too awkward for Molly and she promptly excused herself to the bathroom; the spinning of the room didn't cease and she threw water over her face; **I've had ****_one _****glass, shit I'm a lightweight. No wonder I'm married. It's a wonder I'm not pregnant, either. **Making a mental note to check whether she had definitely taken the pill that fateful night, Molly examined her appearance before facing the restaurant once more. She barely turned the corner of the corridor before she was twirled around, a voice murmuring into her ear from behind.

"Your 'usband ees a very lucky man, madam…" gentle, familiar hands snaked across her waist and glided over her chest causing Molly's breath to hitch, "…'e may not know 'ow to…_be 'uman _but you are very special to me. There are no regrets where you are concerned, madam, only zat I treated you so badly to begin wiz. If you'll 'ave me, I'll not disappoint again…Mrs. 'olmes…"

**That's good enough for me. **Her eyes opened when the hands melted away, along with the dark curls and thick glasses on his beautiful face. Molly ran her hands through her hair, fighting her smile and tears as she wobbled back to the chair. Connor smiled and thrust forwards a refilled glass for her.

"Thank you, Mr. Burke, but I don't think I'll be needing your services anymore…" Molly practically laughed and Connor's face fell. He nodded in understanding and gestured to her glass.

"Well, a final drink of goodbye then…I wish you all the luck…"

He gave his winning wink, raising his own glass and sipping tentatively; the sheer delight that surged through him when Molly almost downed the whole lot was un-decent. **Wow, she's eager to leave.** Molly gasped and shook her head, trying to centre the wildly turning room; the feeling of warmth that usually accompanied wine was absent and replaced with churning, an unfamiliar sickness dawning on her and rising up her body. Molly clumsily got to her feet only to immediately wobble uncontrollably on the spot – she reached out to steady herself but Connor gently took her upper arm.

"Maybe I should take you home…" he suggested, leading her towards the door hurriedly, as though he was keen not to be seen. Molly tried to shake him away but her head was whirling so wildly she could hardly move– her vision was severely blurred, her steps unintelligible and her throat completely dry. She couldn't tell whose hands were whose, although the uncomfortably fierce grip on her backside she could do without.

"I don't…don't feel…so…" she blinked rapidly, trying to fight the curious feeling of drowsiness that had claimed her so quickly. They had been having a relatively good time and she had to ruin it by drinking too much again; **one…it was…one or…two?** She felt just about ready to pass out as the cold air hit her skin.

"Now, Molly Hooper, just where is it you live…quickly now, I'd estimate you've got about twenty seconds left before you're completely unconscious…" she heard a dark voice whisper in her ear; Molly shrugged on the terrifyingly tight grip on her arm, the other groping her chest and sides; her knees buckled and she reached out for something to support her.

"Did you…have I been…what…"

"You better get your girlfriend 'ome, son…she ain't lookin' so good."

Connor turned to one of the waiters smoking a cigarette, clearly taking a break; he nodded politely and ushered her down the street. Thoughts and words failed Molly as she fought consciousness, the tight grips to her body not relinquishing; terror started to set in and she screamed so loudly she hoped someone else besides her could hear. Where she was being dragged, she didn't know and she powerless to fight back.

The rushing of the traffic, the dark of the night and the feeling of being lifted bridal style into a pair of strong arms was the last thing Molly registered before succumbing to the state of complete disorientation…

* * *

_…_

_This went from fluffy to terrifying quite quickly, eh?_

_Um, well, that escalated quickly *nervous chuckling* Now, let's play 'how many will still be reading after this'? I had this idea for a while but I'll leave it for you to decide whether you like this direction or, um, not :/ Sorry if this chapter seemed a little hard to absorb, the point didn't want to be found… xx Anyway, I'm sure the same question(s) is/are on your mind(s): why. were. they. late? What happened to Molly? Answer: find out next time (again, I'm sorry) xx_


	6. Racing

_Hello and welcome back. Ok, now if you recall the last chapter, our Molly was left in a serious situation...be warned for similar themes in this chapter :/ *gulps* Here we go... xx_

* * *

_"Let's see if that husband of yours will still want you when I've finished with you."_

Molly struggled, fought and kicked out violently…so why wasn't she moving a single inch? She screamed as loud as her lungs allowed but no sound was escaping her mouth. She could feel every icy cold finger gliding over her legs even though her eyelids were too heavy to open.

**He'll come to his senses…he'll understand, he'll see. Connor is a respectable member of society…he won't ****_do _****this!**

No matter how many times Molly repeated this to herself, it was becoming less and less easy to believe; his slimy hands were relentlessly groping and wandering, exploring less than gently as his laughter grew. Molly wished her tears would leave her eyes when his insults at her increased, laying his harsh claim to her skin with fierce slaps and bruising pinches. Since she was powerless to him, Molly fought images of what he was doing, where they were and if an end was in sight, instead choosing to focus on her husband, the man she loved and wanted to love her back…Sherlock.

* * *

"Sherlock!" Molly squeaked, spinning on the spot and throwing the shirt she had just gathered over her head dramatically; she stuttered as she met his gaze and it didn't matter how hard she tried…she wasn't angry, "I'm changing what are you doing in my bedroom?"

"Something," he swallowed, stepping closer and dropping his gaze to the floor, "I should have done the moment we landed back in England," he was directly in front of her, his loose hand playing with the ring on her finger; she raised an eyebrow when he slipped the item from her hand, "…possibly even before that."

Molly's eyes followed him and he lowered to his knee in front of her, wondering whether to smile, roll her eyes or check his head for injuries as he extended the ring he had just extracted from her smooth skin.

"Molly…it may have taken getting drunk to actually get to where we are now, but I would be lying if I said I regretted it. Also, I wasn't exactly truthful before…I remember every detail from the night we spent together. I'm sorry, I wasn't as drunk as you…I wanted to-" he paused when Molly giggled, placing her hand on her chest as if in relief.

"Oh, thank _God_…um, I have a confession, too…I only had a few, too. I know it was wrong, I just wanted you to loosen up," she bit her lip at his amazed stare and staggered when he jumped to his feet at lightning speed.

"So…what happened between us…was entirely down to us," he stated, nodding at the memory; he had believed Molly to be drunk, making it easier for him to be more like himself around her and propose their marriage. At Molly's slow nod, he swallowed, "…well, we certainly make our lives easier, don't we?"

"You…proposed that night. You suggested it, I agreed – probably shouldn't have – not sorry, though," she rambled, stumbling over her words as Sherlock loosely grasped her hand and slowly slipped the ring back into place, all the while keeping his eyes locked on hers, "…I- you wanted the divorce-"

"I was nervous…I believed you to be wasted. It made things easier," his voice had lowered to a mere whisper and his hand to brace against the door frame he hadn't realised Molly was half-slumped against "…and as for the divorce," he smirked, wondering why she looked so beautiful in the current dim light of her bedroom, "…I wanted you to be happy. I still don't believe I can give you that happiness…my reasons are totally selfish."

Molly blinked, wondering what was going to happen; her mind briefly thought of John waiting nervously for them but it quickly vanished as Sherlock's thumb came to brush across her lips.

"I have no interest in a wife. A girlfriend with your last name, your love down on a bit of paper and metal on the finger," he shook his head, rolling his eyes as though it was typical; Molly found herself very confused since this was the basis of their relationship, now. He looked furious he had allowed himself to fall into _that _category and shook his head, locking eyes with her once more, " since you know me better than anyone else, I know you'd tolerate my habits, you'd leave me alone during cases, you'd bring me parts from your supplies and you'd ensure I ate and slept," he leaned down so fast Molly was in danger of suffocating from holding her breath; he was so close she could feel his warm breath against her skin when he slowly continued, "… but most importantly, Molly Holmes, you'd give me sex."

"Most importantly?" Molly gasped in shock, her heart hammering whilst Sherlock's fingers began their ascent up her arms to her neck and finally resting against her cheeks.

"Right now, yes."

Molly bit her lip when she found the brilliant blue eyes impossible to locate beneath all the black; she thought about their first kiss on the boat, the desperate neediness that released years of pent-up sexual desire for each other – John, the only one of them completely pissed, had found immense amusement in the interactions. Sherlock suddenly blinked and stepped away, ruffling his hair dramatically as if returning from his mind palace.

"Was I…I mean, was it- uh, did I…" he huffed in frustration at himself, clenching his fists; Molly was still in shock at the revelations to help him, "…that night we…well, we- that. Experience isn't…I haven't- so it wasn't…and I, uh…good."

"Hmm?" Molly murmured, finally snapping out of her daze and her eyes widened when she observed his brilliantly flushing face, "…_oh_…no, it was…nice. Good. Sod experience…instinct was- good."

She smiled, adding a secretive roll of the eyes at his smug pride; she always wondered how he could allow himself to be so vulnerable one moment, dropping his shields and shedding his armour, and the next becoming entirely Sherlock. They hovered awkwardly for several moments, neither saying a word as their heartbeats calmed and faces returned to their normal colour. It was the ring alert that jolted them into action; Molly shakily gathered her phone from the bed and bit her lip.

"We're very late and John is worried…we still haven't got them a present…should we get them together? Isn't that what married couples do? Not that we're a traditional-"

"Molly-" Sherlock began, not totally sure what he was about to say. It didn't matter for Molly waved a dismissive hand, refusing to meet his gaze.

"It's ok…we don't have to talk about this. It was…I'll be out in a minute."

She smiled quickly and turned away, closing her eyes tightly as she heard Sherlock shuffle awkwardly into the hallway. She shook away her cruel thoughts as she dressed, wondering if Sherlock had been sincere with what he'd said. **Of course, he was sincere…not even Sherlock would dangle my emotions in front of me like that. Was he really suggesting we'd work? **Molly threw her hands over her face, desperately hoping she hadn't made such a huge mistake. **I'm such an idiot.**

* * *

Sherlock rounded the corner, removing the ridiculous glasses and discarding the ludicrous bowtie; this was the last time he was impersonating a waiter. He ducked around the corner, scanning the restaurant and frowning when there seemed to be no sign of Molly. He approached the table she had been sitting at with that _Connor_, examining the items quickly. **Food still warm, glasses drained…bill unpaid? Hasty exit… **He looked up at the sound of grumbling, watching a member of staff stuff his cigarettes back into his jacket pocket. He jumped when the consulting detective stopped directly in front of him.

"Outside – did you notice a woman with long brown hair, brown eyes, small lips and an enviable figure being led away by a man who…well, is a twat?"

"I'll say, mate," he sniggered, brushing his uniform down and folding his arms, "…poor gal was a bit pissed, I'd say…matey got 'er in a cab. Nice boyfriend…I 'ate it when my wife does that -"

"He wasn't her boyfriend…_she _was my wife, 'mate'," Sherlock spat as he hurried away, leaving the confused waiter standing alone at the front of the restaurant.

Out in the street, Sherlock could only run into the middle of the not-too-busy road and watch the cab that was currently turning a corner; without even moving, Sherlock entered his mind palace, searching Connor's file for anything that might lead him the right direction. **There are four apartment buildings in that direction; it'll have to be close so as not to arouse the cabbie's suspicion. Closest? THINK! **He blocked out the sound of two beeping cars, internally praising himself as he found Connor's address on a card in the file – he had almost forgotten Molly had accepted Connor's business card. **Who puts their address on a business card? Apparently, a man who illegally seduces vulnerable women seeking a divorce, a fresh start in life. **Without a moment to lose, Sherlock opened his eyes and shot down the street to the amusement of several bystanders.

* * *

Molly was crying; she couldn't help it, the way she was being touched _there _felt so wrong and so harsh – she wanted to kick him where it hurt most. She had regained some consciousness and was able to open her eyes; the last time she had, though, she had felt sick. She was lying on her back across a rickety bed in a dirty room; she assumed none of his former conquests had consented to their seduction…but why had they not done something about it? She had seen most of his clothes had been abandoned but couldn't tell the fate of her own; Molly sobbed desperately, Sherlock's name repeated over and over in her head as the drooling man's hands crept higher, tugging at her chest and sniggering. She had a terrifying feeling her ordeal was far from over and the insults began again.

"No one will want you after I've finished with you; not your ignorant husband, your friends will know what you've done…I promised myself I'd wreck you…"

_"__Really?"_

Molly would have gasped if she could; Sherlock had spoken with such a deadly sincerity, Molly was almost scared as to what he was going to do next. She heard the sound of a gun being readied and determined he wasn't alone; her eyes were leaking once more, her body quivering from the crippling fear.

_"__I consider myself a reasonably well-tempered man…but I want you to know, I am not only going to kill you," _Molly could tell Sherlock was shaking from anger, trying to keep himself steadied, _"I'm going to make you suffer…you'll be begging for death when I've finished with you."_

_"__Sherlock-" _Greg's voice was more nervous, his hand possibly shaking with its grip on the gun. Molly could just about determine the sound of a zip being re-done followed by a whispered 'she wanted it'. This, everyone in the room could tell, was it; everything happened so quickly. Yells and shouts erupted, desperate scuffles and cries of pain were just about discernable as fists connected with skin relentlessly.

"Molly? Molly, can you hear me?" John's voice had never sounded so warm and kind to her before; she blinked her tired eyes open and the doctor's face lit up in relief, "…she's paralysed, but looks responsive, "John reached up and began fiddling with the ties around Molly's wrists; he glanced over his shoulder at a scene Molly couldn't see, "Greg, for God's sake, stop him…_he'll kill him!"_

It took the two of them to rush over and pry Sherlock away, the heavily-bleeding detective staggering into Molly's view before she succumbed to the drug's effects that hadn't yet worn off.

* * *

Molly woke up panting heavily, the smirking face in her dreams visible for only a moment; she hugged her knees to her chest, sobbing into the thick, quilted duvet. She blinked away the warm tears and, ignoring the pounding headache, frowned around the unfamiliar bedroom. There was a mixture of white and pink patterns around the posh looking interior, a warm fire crackling opposite the very large and soft bed – she blushed when she found she had been spread out in the middle of a stranger's bed. Molly wanted to call for Sherlock, wanted to know if she was safe and he was going to protect her…she wanted to hold and cradle her husband. She experienced a horrible sinking feeling that he may not _want _her after this; what if Connor was right? She began to sob once more when a sound from behind the white door made her jump.

"Ow! Be careful," Sherlock hissed and this was followed by a small slapping sound and huffing.

"Stop being a baby, Sherlock. Serves you right for getting into a fight now, doesn't it?" There was silence for several moments and the clanging of several items against a worktop, "…why couldn't that doctor friend of yours done this?"

"New father," Sherlock winced, hissing at the contact of the stitches he was currently receiving; Molly tilted her head, wondering if she should see what was happening. The strange woman suddenly giggled.

"She's very pretty, Sherlock…why on Earth did you keep her secret for so long? Oh, I like her…"

Molly smiled affectionately, the new feeling of being in the safest of hands allowing her to sink back against the mattress, the reality of where she was hiting home; Sherlock's shy whisper of 'Mummy' leaving her with no doubt.

* * *

_I'm sorry if anyone was affected by this…don't worry, Sherlock is not quite finished with him; if the mind palace scene seemed a bit fast, it was because I wanted to show how eager he was to find her before…well, you know :) I get quite self-conscious about 'details'…sorry :/ xx Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you liked it…Mummy and Daddy Holmes are going to have a few words for their boy, I can assure you xx_


	7. Meeting the Parents

_Hello and welcome back everyone...been a bit of a while, hasn't it? Real life is rubbish...gets in the way a bit. Been having a bit of time lately...really doubting my writing :/ To apologise, I'm back with a mostly very fluffy chapter for you... hope you like it :)_

* * *

Beep. Beep. Beep.

**Can someone shut that fucking Hospital monitor- **Connor's eyes flew open, immediately regretting it as the blinding whiteness burned. He groaned, fidgeting in the bed as he attempted to discern the extent of his injuries; **cracked ribs, head…injuries, uh…it was the…that client. Molly's 'husband'. **Connor managed a smile, running his tongue over the gap in his teeth. **Ah, Molly…I almost had you. **He chuckled, flexing his bandaged knuckles and took relief in the knowledge he had managed to inflict some damage on the curly-haired bastard who had ruined everything.

"Ah, Mr. Burke…it's good to see you wide awake," the nurse beamed as she bustled into the room, seizing his chart and tilting her head, "…well, everything looks in order. We're keeping you here for a few days so we can monitor your progress; you received a nasty blow to the head. If you're not too stressed, the police would like a word."

Without another word, she hurried away to fetch said officers; he breathed out in annoyance – the last thing he needed now was to answer questions. Connor frowned as he watched the officers near and decided to do what he'd always done in this situation: lie through his teeth and feign ignorance. He shimmied into a sitting position and crossed his arms, staring the Inspector up and down.

"Ah, Inspector Lestrade…long time no see. How _is_ Karen these days?"

Greg stiffened, his hand stilling on the notepad he had withdrawn; he made it a point to look directly at the smug man in the Hospital bed, not wanting the vile man to think he'd beaten him. He cleared his throat, gesturing the notepad in the air.

"I was tempted to allow Mr. Holmes to continue what he was doing but I'm a professional, Mr. Burke. I have to do this by the rules despite my personal feelings. Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson and myself witnessed an attempted assault on Mrs. Holmes…I'm here to formally place you under arrest."

The laughter that reached his ears was pained yet sincere; Connor was trying desperately to irritate the volatile Inspector who was clearly having none of it, his expression remaining neutral.

"Come now, _Greg_, what you 'witnessed' was a purely consensual act between two people after a successful date; need I remind you that Molly is going through a divorce. She is free to do as she pleases…" his smirk was wide indeed and his adjusted his pillow, gripping his ribs as he twisted, "…now, I think you should be devoting your valuable time to arresting my attacker…you do know him, after all."

"Are you suggesting Sherlock Holmes, John Watson and myself interrupted a lover's tryst? Well, call me crazy but usually women are more animated than Mrs. Holmes seemed-"

"Ah, so you _do_ remember Karen Lestrade-Davies," Connor muttered, certain this would have the Inspector losing control – sure enough, the mention of his ex-wife had Greg stepping forwards threateningly only to stop as he remembered what he was doing.

"Missing some teeth, Connor? I'm sure if you ask nicely, Sherlock will bring them round and happily and insert them violently back into your head!" Greg was slowly losing his temper, determined the smooth-talking lawyer wasn't going to get away with it this time, "…I will not let you blame Molly for your disgusting actions! Mark my words, Sherlock and I will not rest-"

"Listen to me, Inspector Lestrade," Connor hissed, leaning forwards with burning rage in his eyes, "…I was put here by a man whose wife agreed to sleep with me. If you are not going to get justice for my state, I will find someone who will."

"You mother-"

"Inspector," Connor grinned evilly, leaning back against the bed and tilting his head; he had Greg right where he wanted him, "I want Sherlock Holmes in prison for what he did, he wants me in prison for what I did; he is so blind to that…_slut _of a wife of his-"

"Listen to me," Greg had marched forwards and seized the Hospital gown wrapped around Connor's body; for a split second, the lawyer dropped the manipulative act and allowed his fear to be shown, "…you are going to pay for what you've done, not just to Molly…but for everyone. We'll find them…we'll help them…you. Are. Not. Getting. Away," he threw the injured man back onto the bed and stepped away, breathing heavily, "you're lucky I'm not Sherlock…don't leave the country. As of now, you're under arrest. I want you for questioning as soon as you're released."

"Take care, Inspector," Connor shouted after the retreating Inspector, sinking back into the bed and wondering if he had done enough this time.

* * *

"Aww-"

"Stop it," Sherlock warned his mother, using his good hand to turn the paper he was trying to read; the main reason he had brought Molly to his parents was for protection. It most certainly wasn't because he _wanted _them to meet his wife.

"I wasn't doing anything," Victoria Holmes said with a sly smile which earned her a scowl from her son; she bent over the washing machine, sighing to herself, "…all that blood, no wonder you broke your hand," Sherlock didn't say anything and adjusted his sore hand. Mrs. Holmes straightened and pushed a set of papers towards her son, "…what are you going to do with this, then?"

Sherlock glanced at the divorce papers and sighed, briefly looking at the closed-door leading to his wife; he had brought the papers from the flat to ask his parents for advice…he was now beginning to regret that decision – he should have known they'd immediately request he call off the divorce and, as they had put it, 'get to making grandchildren for them'. After a lengthy debate, Sherlock sighed and took the papers, muttering in a low voice as he tore them to pieces.

"I think it's safe to say we won't be needing them…no one will ever hurt my wife again."

In the comfort of the bedroom, Molly wiped her wet eyes and grinned into the hand covering her mouth; she heard Victoria exclaim happily and murmur something unintelligible. She heard the duo bustle around and feared they'd come in to wake her; however, their conversation was very much still in effect.

"…what are you doing still sat there? Go in there and hold your darling wife…she's been through hell," Mrs. Holmes was saying; Molly wished she could see the look on Sherlock's face as his mother spoke.

"What-" Sherlock stammered and Molly almost laughed, considering what he had just done for her, "you're mad, the last thing she'll want is _touch_," Sherlock scoffed and Molly heard the disappointment in his voice, knowing how guilty he must feel.

"Not from you," both Molly and Victoria replied simultaneously.

"Your mother's right, son," Scott Holmes rumbled, apparently distracted by something; Molly hadn't even been aware he was there. She heard Sherlock grumble and sigh in annoyance but his mother wasn't paying attention to the signs.

"It's bad enough we had to hear about this from your brother…don't be like that; look at the progress you've made- _don't roll your eyes at me, young man!"_ Victoria warned and Molly was forced to stuff the duvet into her mouth to stifle her laughter, "…she adores you and I _know_ how you feel about her."

"Your mother's right, son," Scott repeated, the perfectly typical not-really-paying-attention attitude in his voice; from what Molly could tell, Sherlock's parents were nothing like she expected – they seemed incredibly laid-back and, well, ordinary.

"Do you have anything helpful to say, Dad?" Sherlock groaned, almost pleading with his father not to make him go and comfort Molly – she could understand his reservations but Molly wanted nothing more than for her husband to come into the bedroom and pull her close in his strong arms.

"Top Gear's on…" Mr. Holmes replied followed by another huff from Sherlock, "…but your mother is right."

"Oh for God's sake," there was the sound of a chair scraping and footsteps moving away from the door; for a horrifying moment, Molly thought Sherlock's parents were just going to let him leave and simmer down…they know him better, perhaps that's what they did.

"Oh no you don't…don't make me drag you in that room; you put that ring on her finger, you are standing by her! You're not too old for a smack, young man," Victoria threatened, apparently fed up with her grown son – if he wanted to act like a child, she'd certainly treat him like one. Molly held her breath, waiting.

"Your mother's right, so-"

"Fine. Just…fine," Sherlock finally gave up, throwing off his coat and stomping back to the door; Molly shifted in the bed and wondered if she should feign sleep, "if she kicks me out, I'll hold you responsible for my eventual divorce."

Molly wriggled to the edge of the bed, eagerly awaiting her husband to join her…the husband that no longer wanted to divorce her. She was almost giddy in her excitement to hold her saviour, her detective; she wanted nothing more than comfort, to remove the vile memory of Connor's fingers tracing the skin on her lower body. The thought made her skin crawl and Molly made a promise that she'll do whatever it takes to make sure Connor serves his punishment; for now, though, she really didn't want to be alone. The door was slowly eased open and Molly closed her eyes, relying on her hearing to discern what Sherlock was up to.

"Go _away_…" he whispered, obviously speaking to his parents standing behind the door; sure enough, Molly heard Victoria giggling and wish her son good luck before bustling off to make breakfast, apparently.

The bed dipped as Sherlock gingerly climbed onto the bed next to her; Molly could tell he was holding back from touching her, clearly concerned. After several agonising moments, Sherlock let out a long sigh.

"You're awake."

"You're not too old for a smack, young man," Molly giggled under the covers, unable to keep quiet anymore – she was relieved he had sussed her, the thought of sitting in silence whilst he wrestled with his conscience had been too much. Molly rolled over, the large smile on her face only grew when she saw Sherlock's blush.

"Alright-"

"I've found your Achilles' heel…" she teased, removing her hand from under the covers and under his jacket, tickling his ribs; she only giggled harder when he squirmed, "…you're such a _Mummy's boy!_"

Despite glowing furiously red, Sherlock managed a smirk down at her – Molly had the amazing power to constantly surprise him. He had expected her to be distant and withdrawn, not wanting to see another man ever again. However, she was smiling up at him, her eyes shining with a thousand thank yous.

"Molly-"

"If you're going to mention _him_, I don't want to hear it…that's the past and no damage was done – I'm alright, see? This, _you_, are my future…" Molly whispered, knowing how dreadfully cheesy she had just sounded. The 'no damage was done' part of her declaration proved to be untrue as she properly gazed at his face – Sherlock was covered in cuts and bruises, his left eye blackened and lip cut…as his mother had mentioned, his hand was tightly bandaged, "…Sherlock-"

"I am alright, Molly…I'll heal and you are welcome. I wasn't going to let him hurt you," he had shuffled down the bed so he was now lying on his bed, still a distance from her, "I agree, that is in the past but it shouldn't be forgotten. He will pay…"

"I don't want to remember," Molly quickly interjected, slipping her hand into his and gripping tightly. He took this as a sign to shuffle closer and awkwardly wrap her in his arms, despite her being underneath the duvet and him lying on top.

"I'm sorry but you'll need to…if he is to pay. I'll get the others, too…he won't get away…"

"Thank you," Molly muttered, snuggling into him and breathing in his sweet scent, "…thank you for saving me, thank you for marrying me…just thank you. But, let's not talk about it now…please, just hold me," Molly whimpered and, after a heavy sigh and fumbling, Sherlock was under the covers with her, his arms protectively wrapped around her – even if he could just about understand why Molly didn't want to remember, he wasn't going to forget anytime soon; Connor was going to serve his punishment one way or another.

* * *

_"__Young man!"_

_"__I'm never going to live this down, am I?"_

_"__No…and we've got the rest of our lives."_

Victoria grinned behind the closed door and silently tiptoed away for the second time. It was obvious to the elder Holmes woman how much the pathologist loved her son just by her tone of voice and the need to be held by her husband. She already loved her new daughter-in-law and had already planned the meals she was going to prepare for them, getting to know her as they ate together; it was exciting to think about. She dropped heavily into the seat next to her husband and patted his knee; he was still thoroughly absorbed in the Top Gear marathon.

"He loves her…I can tell," she nodded smugly, elbowing Scott when he all but nodded, "you mark my words, we'll be attending a real wedding with flowers and dresses before the end of the year."

"Yes, dear," Scott replied distractedly, not taking his eyes from the TV set.

Victoria rolled her eyes and immediately turned to the bedroom door when it opened to reveal her son gently tugging encouragingly on a dressing gown clad arm. Sherlock awkwardly shuffled into the room, pulling his beautiful wife with him and cleared his throat, hating how he felt like a stupid teenager. **Is this how parental introductions are supposed to be? **He glared at the floor and gestured between them as he spoke.

"Molly Hoo- Holmes," he corrected, not needing to look at his mother as he continued, "these are my parents, Victoria and Scott…Mum, Dad…this is Molly, the pathologist I told-"

"it's lovely to finally meet you properly, Molly, dear," Victoria announced, leaping to her feet and grasping Molly's hand tightly, "…_the _pathologist, he says. Should have heard him at Christmas…my pathologist. Freudian slip, I said, didn't I?"

"Yes you did, dear," Scott was now by his wife's side, also gripping Molly's hand and raising his eyebrows, "…nice ring, Sherlock…wait, I was with you when you bought that! Six months ago, weren't it? I remember 'cause-"

"Coffee, Molly?" Sherlock quickly cut in, darting to the kitchen to keep from showing everyone his blush; his mother was ushering Molly into their most comfortable chair, offering her blankets and food – she had been right; the lovely pair were nothing like she'd expected.

* * *

Things were going surprisingly well; Molly was sharing jokes with Sherlock's father and exchanging compliments with his mother – to see Molly smiling was something he was relieved they had managed to achieve from her. Then again, Molly was made of stronger stuff than he'd first thought. Thankfully for everyone but Scott, Top Gear's run of the day was over and was replaced with the news.

_"…__Burke, accused of nineteen rapes and eight attempted sexual assaults has been found dead in his Hospital bed at The Royal London Hospital; police are treating his death as suspicious…"_

All eyes in the room turned towards Sherlock, expressions ranging from horror to relief and fear; he had barely been there a day. Questions were forming: how had the staff not seen anything suspicious? Why had they not revealed how Connor was 'killed'? Hearts were thumping and minds were whirling but Sherlock knew better than anyone not to trust anything until he had seen it for himself.

* * *

_Well, well, well, is he dead? Did he do a Moriarty? Not to say wait and see but..._

_Anyway, thank you for reading, I hope you liked it and I shouldn't be too long next time (unless I have another attack of confidence, lol :) xx Stay happy everyone...lots of love xx_


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